


12x02

by flyy0ufools



Series: Wincest Codas [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Season/Series 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 19:59:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10394928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyy0ufools/pseuds/flyy0ufools
Summary: The missing scene with the Brother Hug.





	

_Take care of your brother_ has been Dean’s motto since he was four years old. Now he’s thirty-seven and Sam is thirty-three and they both just almost died for maybe the thousandth time. Dean isn’t sure, he doesn’t keep track any more.

But he realizes one thing–somewhere between now and three decades ago, Dean stopped just caring for Sam and started looking up to him.

His little brother, who’s been bent so many times and is still stronger than anyone he knows.

His goddamn little brother, who has saved the world more than once but still only thinks he almost ended it.

His little brother, who wakes up every day and tries to be good. Dean gave up the pretenses long ago, not bothering to hide all the booze, the occasional pill, the anger, the constant straddling of the morality fence. But Sam just bends, never breaks. Sam reminds Dean who he is.

 _We keep each other human._ Well, Sam keeps Dean human. Dean doesn’t think Sam could ever be anything less; he’s too good.

Somewhere along the way, Dean stopped just needing to protect Sam and started needing Sam to _be okay_.

 _There’s a difference,_ Dean thinks.

Somewhere along the way, Dean stopped.

He’s leaning against the liquor cabinet, not even paying attention to which bottle he’s grabbing. His head is hurting, but he doesn’t have a headache. It’s just…too full. His head’s too full of thoughts, the bunker’s too full of people, his _life_ is too full of people that are still alive, which is good, he knows, but it feels uncomfortable. Like his skin is stretched too thin, trying to cover all these bodies when it was only made to cover him and Sam.

Dean takes a swig of his freshly poured drink, one he doesn’t remember pouring, then realizes he needs something more substantial, so he goes to find his brother.

He sees Sam leaving their mother’s (that’s so weird to say) room, and Sam honest-to-god smiles. _How?_ Dean wonders. _How can Sam smile after everything?_

“Hey, Dean,” Sam sighs, like he’s been holding his breath for who knows how long.

Dean’s chest hurts, and he tries not to touch: his stinging eyes, his neck where he can feel the pulse of his too-fast beating heart, his stomach that hasn’t stopped churning since he ran into their dead mother and came back to a blood-spattered and Sam-less bunker; he tries not to reach out across the impossible space between him and his brother and touch Sam’s shoulder, his elbow, his hand. It seems like it’s been forever since he hugged Sam in that cemetery, their enemies-now-friends surrounding them, and he can’t figure out why. Why their enemies are now their friends; why it’s been so long since he hugged his brother; why he ever left him there in the first place.

It was Sam’s cuts and bruises and bleeding body, although that’s never stopped them before; besides, Cas fixed Sam’s injuries as well as he could hours ago. It was Toni and Mick, strangers being there to witness something that private, that made Dean hesitate, except it didn’t. It never has, and it never would. It was their mother, she was the new addition to the equation, and it makes Dean momentarily want to pull his hair out in disgust. Not at her, at himself; how he could let anything keep him from what he–what they–needed, what they always did? _Who they were?_

Dean stares at his hands. “Sammy, I-”

Sam’s standing in front of Dean, just inside his bubble, like always. He has an expectant look on his face: puppy-dog eyes on full display and a sad smile at his lips. Even when Sam smiles– _How does he still smile?_ Dean wonders–he looks kind of sad. This thought makes Dean’s chest stop hurting and break completely.

Dean reaches out and pulls Sam into a bone-crushing hug, but Sam is already there against him, chest pressed against Dean’s and hair tickling Dean’s face and arms wrapped around Dean right where they’re supposed to be. _Where they should stay forever,_ Dean thinks.

 _Thank god, Sammy_.

“Thank god, Sammy,” Dean says. He presses his lips to Sam’s neck, his jaw, his cheek, and Dean doesn’t know what he’s doing, but maybe he does. Because Sam turns his face so Dean can press a kiss to Sam’s lips. He can feel Sam smile and he finally doesn’t wonder how Sam can be smiling.

Somewhere along the way, Dean stopped just loving Sam and fell in love with him.


End file.
